This week, Our Intrepid Heroes motor on over to yet another Nowheresville after a pair of friskypants twentysomethings takes that whole "You're Just So Adorable, I Could Eat You Right Up!" garbage to its delightfully grotesque extreme, and it looks like we're in for yet another run-of-the-mill Monster Of The Week episode until Eagle-Eyed Sammy spots a matching set of Enochian symbols seared into the lunatic lovebirds' freshly autopsied hearts. Dashing El Deano rings My Sweet Baboo for a consult, and Castiel flutters on in to confirm that the cannibals had indeed been touched by an angel shortly before they started devouring each other -- specifically a "cherub third class" who's otherwise known to us mere mortals as a "cupid."
Now, before you think of Charmed and barf, understand this: The cupid has absolutely nothing to do with the daytime nightmare now ripping through the town, which quickly expands from various tawdry pairs of death-trip lovers offing each other to include a former fattie forcing Twinkies down his throat with a toilet brush, a short order cook plunging his bare hands into a diner's deep fryer because the fries are taking too long, the avuncular county coroner inhaling about fifteen gallons of whiskey in one sitting, and our very own Castiel shoveling what seems to be at least five pounds' worth of raw hamburger meat into his gullet. You see, the third Horseman has risen, and it's Famine, only this version of Famine doesn't make you starve to death. No, this Famine instead infects you with the irresistible urge to gorge on what you most crave until you've ended up destroying yourself -- and then, after you're dead, this Famine will eat your soul. Charming, isn't it?
Unfortunately for Famine, however, that wicked mojo of his just sends Darling Sammy lunging for demons' necks again, and once Sam's Hell-sent powers have been restored thanks to copious amounts of fresh fiendish blood, Our Intrepid Junkie turns his Mighty Hand Of Discontent on The Horseman himself, and Famine goes boom. Or something like that. The ending was pretty vague, but still: This has to have been one of the most gruesome hours of television I've ever watched in my life, and Raoul loved every goddamned minute of it. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!"
Rattle, Rattle THEN! As I'm sure you'll all remember, Lucifer's escape from Hell triggered the ascent of The Four Horsemen Of The Apocalypse, the first of whom rather satisfyingly lost his ring finger when Our Intrepid Heroes tag-teamed him from behind, while the second of whom hasn't been mentioned since he rose right before Thanksgiving to lay waste to various unimportant Midwestern states. Also, just in case you've forgotten, Darling Sammy got his dumb ginormous self addicted to crack, and Dashing El Deano ranted that The Dean and Sam Story is neither fun nor entertaining and is, in fact, "a river of crap that would send most people howling to the nuthouse." Cut to the nuthouse, where Demented El Deano dejectedly admitted to himself that he doesn't know how he gets up in the morning anymore, because Despondent El Deano is D-U-N done! Also done? The THEN!
Rattle, Rattle NOW! The camera slowly hauls itself over a brownstone's stoop to take in the romantically lit late evening stroll that's currently being enjoyed by two shy-faced young'uns reaching the end of their very first date. This isn't going to end well. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" shrieks Raoul The Big Gay Supernatural Dragon in a frenzy of anticipatory delight, for he, too, knows full well that absolutely nothing good can come of this set-up. "I'm certain it's going to be positively gruesome!" Raoul shrieks again, already clapping his exquisitely manicured paws together with a glee that is endearingly heartless, and as I've a feeling you couldn't possibly be more correct, friend of friends, would you mind terribly if I got on with it already? "Please do!" Excellent. So, Alice over here had a really good time, and Russell over there really wants to see her again, and -- because they're both easily influenced losers -- they both agree that being alone on Valentine's Day sucks, and then they move in for a sweet little tentative goodnight kiss that rapidly intensifies into a full-blown face-sucking adventure right there in the middle of the sidewalk until mousy Alice abruptly jerks herself away from him, stammering, "I'm sorry! I-I-I just, uh, I don't want you to think I'm the type of person who just..." "No, I should apologize!" the gallant if somewhat nerdy Russell attempts to assure her, but it doesn't matter, for barely have the words flown from his mouth when a suddenly overheated Alice leaps back up to shove her tongue down his throat again, and the next thing we know...